Level 906: "The Omnia Athenaeum"

LEVEL 906

THREAT INDEX
[ UNDER LOCKDOWN ]

Exit: Annexed
[ EXITS / ENTRANCES BLOCKED ]

Environment: 2/5
Everchanging Environment

Entities: 0/5
[ ENTITY UNDER TERMINATION ]

A quiet wind drifted through the library. Countless shelves towered into the blue oblivion, each housing billions upon billions of dusty books. They lay neatly arranged, displaying forsaken spines upon a departed audience. There was once a time when crowds of thousands would gather to read the myriad of stories, but as time and change overtook humanity, the library became antiquated. Thousands of tales were forgotten. As their words faded, their meanings were lost to time.

Myths told of a Storyteller who would oversee this library — a tall, curious being with a form made of ancient parchment paper. He spent every moment of his life reading, learning, and telling. Alas, the stories he told were forgotten almost as soon as he spoke them. His words flew away like fleeing doves and disappeared into oblivion.

From curiosity, he found knowledge, but no purpose.

~ Name

A highrise of books.

Description

Level 906 is a gargantuan library consisting of long, winding towers; broad, bookshelf-lined corridors; and deep, illuminated pits. Steel lampposts, wooden bridges, staircases, and gates adorn the numerous rooms; spaces across the level vary greatly in design, condition, and size. Wanderers report hearing a distant, quiet melody weakly drifting through the library. The level's structure constantly shifts; rooms often revolve, bridges are subject to collapse, and hallways are prone to relocate. Consequently, the level is virtually unnavigable, and wanderers are almost certain to lose their way. Punctuating the labyrinthine architecture is well-kept furniture scattered across the level, creating islands of stillness amidst the chaotic library. Heated cups of various teas periodically manifest atop wooden tables across Level 906. Despite emitting copious amounts of steam, the liquid inside has been described as “always soothingly warm”. Roughly a few hours without contact with carbon-based life will cause the cups to materialize into burnt, ashy specks of paper.

Rows of bookshelves.

All existing literary genres are covered throughout Level 906's nonsensically arranged books, many of which are slightly modified copies of one another. Most books are written in indiscernible scripts, some of which are jumbled series of letters. Some accounts report unfinished books being actively written by an invisible source. Until a book comes into contact with a carbon-based lifeform, it remains firmly attached to a surface. Scattered brown papers have been noted to drift through Level 906, most written in indecipherable scripts; those that are intelligible are reported to converge in plot, accumulating into one grand, colossal story.

A bright, hazy glow appears to engulf the level despite a lack of major light sources. Breezes consistently weave through the level's hallways, maintaining a consistent level-wide temperature of 75°F (roughly 24°C). Foggy wisps of Almond Water in some of the level's largest areas are often preludes to momentary bouts of rain; strangely, the level’s many wooden structures do not appear to decay as a result, and its countless books seem to experience no damage whatsoever. Subtle gravity fluctuations occasionally cause light objects to momentarily hover about, and such events may produce large hills of books across the level.

Indestructible, large windows and scattered, small holes punctured in the level's structure reveal a kaleidoscopic, starlit void emanating a ringing cacophony of bizarre sounds; however, such voids are short-lived and repair themselves in a matter of hours. Staring into these gaps prompts a blindingly quick succession of hallucinations and causes the beholder to fall unconscious; those who fall into these holes are rarely seen again.

Addendum: Archived and Annotated Report from the Kauer Research Organization

Date: January 4, 2020
Subject: [IDENTITY PROTECTED]
Location: Level 906
[REMAINING DETAILS REMOVED FOR SECURITY]

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As Subject was gradually lowered into the hole:

• Subject reports steady rise in intensity and duration of visual hallucinations (Note: Subject begins describing a possible lifeform in the void.}
• Subject reports spike in auditory hallucinations — some inquiring whispers, some too unintelligible to understand (Note: Subject's helmet was designed to muffle all sounds except for comms.}
• Subject displays abnormal emotions: curiosity, wonder, and fascination (Note: Subject begins muttering incoherent phrases and describes a craving to write.}
• More pressure was exerted onto the rope holding Subject (Note: Such force is presumed to be an external gravity source.}
• All researchers in Level 906 begin experiencing visual hallucinations.

After Subject was retrieved from the void, Subject expressed an intense desire to share their experience.

A gaping hole opened next to a shelf, and everything near it was pulled into the abyss beyond. I watched as the pages spiraled into those iridescent, swirling masses of dust; as those wooden panels splintered, disintegrated, and scattered through the beckoning depths. An insatiable urge to fall into the void overcame me, yet it was accompanied by lingering anxiety — uncertainty, fear, and apprehension.

The stories of a trillion lives filled my head; I saw everything conceivable by man — love and hate; birth and death; elation and grief; benevolence and malice; recreation and boredom; and countless other pairs of antithetical emotions dancing hand-in-hand, creating thousands upon thousands of tales with every step.

Somewhere in the dark, one light overshone the rest. A frail glow emanated from its shimmering heart. Within a minute, it dissolved, and its radiance flickered out of existence. The depths followed suit, and all went completely dark for a fraction of a second. In that ephemeral blackness, every sound was dampened. Thin, wispy breezes caressed my ears and disappeared into the abyss.

Blink.

Blink.

And the depths were illuminated once more. Only — everything was different. It felt as if every cloud of dust was replaced anew, and every color had birthed a thousand different shades. This time, the silhouette of a figure formed in the chaos.

Despite a maddening iridescence coloring their body, I could make out their faint colors — a pale, feminine humanoid with long blond hair that spanned the stars. A grand, white dress adorned with pastel blue frills. They had no face, but I could feel it radiating, benevolent curiosity. They stared at me with a tilted head, and I could have sworn they smiled. In the back of my head, they spoke.

"You humans are such interesting lifeforms. Every living second you have is driven by this... insatiable curiosity. And look where that got you."

They spread their arms open, gesturing at the void embracing us.

"One more step towards the unknown."

I inquired, "Who are you?"

"Dear, I'm surprised you cannot tell who I am."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A knowing smirk crossed their face. They spoke again but with an entirely different voice — elegant, warm, and almost welcoming. If only I understood what I was being welcomed into.

"Every universe is born with its library, darling. I am simply one curator among billions. Perhaps someday, dear, you can visit these other realms. From what I have seen, humanity is only a blink away."

A red light began blinking in my helmet. Time to return.

The figure looked back at the hole from which I descended.

"I suppose you must return. Farewell, and may the road ahead be bright."

They flicked their hand, and my vision was reduced to black.

The Storyteller, Avatar of Curiosity

While The Storyteller frequently shifts forms, it generally takes after a consistent base physique: a tall, humanoid entity with a slim form composed of brown, dusty paper. In place of a head is a hood-like structure housing a purple eye emanating a faint whir. Serving as Level 906's curator, it is believed to be at least as old as its home level. The Avatar is rumored to be the scribe of the Royal Court, an ancient group of sixteen Enigmatic Entities. Sightings are becoming less common, presumably due to an avoidance of outside interactions. presumably due to an avoidance of outside interactions.

+ Open Addendum +

- Close Addendum -

Let me tell you a story, wanderer.

There once was a dreamer.

They traversed the abyss — indefinitely wandering a starless, depthless space. They could not see, for there were no sights to gaze upon. They could not hear, for there were no sounds resonating through that emptiness. They could not feel, for there was nothing to brush against their ethereal skin. But they could dream.

O', how they dreamed of something more — something beyond this nothingness, something tangible and conceivable. It took ages for a single thought to form. But when it did, the first sparks of curiosity flashed through the darkness with the luminosity of a quasar compressed into a pinpoint.

From one thought branched two more. And then five more. And then twenty more. And then a thousand more. And so on.

Until one day, their thoughts birthed an endless collection of libraries, each born with its curator, who archived the countless stories that went by in their universe — the events of their world compiled into a thousand tales, each of a thousand pages.

Perhaps you can visit these places — after all, you're only a blink away.

~ Name

Entrances and Exits

Due to the upcoming AEG Procedure, the Anti-Entity Group has seized all entrances and exits to Level 906. Wanderers are advised to either turn away from all entrances or seek an exit immediately.

Footnotes

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> Open Authorial Information

> Close Authorial Information

Rewrite Author: Dr. "Swaggleton"
Previous Authors: User "CrimsonFenrir7" and User "Mctoran"
Special thanks to User "Egglord1" and User "20Tom07" with the initial critique
First level image retrieved from an older revision
Second level image uploaded by User "Heyalolboll"; source unknown
Third image level retrieved via Frontroomian methods
Entity image retrieved from an archived article